


I Guess It's What You Might Call Friendship

by hawkstout



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Explicit Language, Humor, Wash Feels, Wash is a blond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkstout/pseuds/hawkstout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can we keep him? </p><p>Tucker gives in and Wash is given a second chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He's Not a Cat

“Can we keep him?”

“No.”

“Can we keep him?”

“No!”

“Can we keep him?”

“Caboose we cannot keep a person! Especially not a Freelancer he’s not a cat. Besides, if we did would you  
feed him? No. I would have to look after—whoa! What are you doing?”

“Doc said he needed to examine him, it’s normal that he’s naked,” Caboose said quickly.

“Yeah, I was asking about the fact that you just put Church’s leg armor on Washington—and he’s not naked he just doesn’t have armor on!”

“I was fixing that.”

“Well if you put him in Ghost Blue’s armor the people looking for Agent Wash will think he’s dead, probably.” Sarge shrugged watching indifferently as Caboose moved the armor from one ‘body’ to another. 

“Wait a sec. He’s been hunting us and teamed up with the Meta! He killed Donut!” Simmons pointed out.

“Just the kind of behaviour I’d expect from a dirty blue, Caboose’s plan is perfect!” Sarge said with approval, “Simmons, Grif, help him.”

“What?” Simmons cried. 

Grif snorted, “Yeah right, I almost died. I call break.” 

“Don’t worry Simmons. He kidnapped me and shouted at me and I’ve forgiven him.” Doc said. He pulled away done with bandaging up Wash. 

“Why?” Simmons asked even as he started helping Caboose. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why? What possible reason could you have to forgive him?” 

“…He…”

“Stockholm syndrome.” Simmons said stiffly.

“No, that’s not it…” Doc mused, “More like… he was really mean and everything and he blew me up to get me out of the wall, but there’s something… really sad about him.”

“Oh yeah and that justifies him being an asshole,” Simmons grumbled.

“To be fair, you’re all a bunch of assholes too,” Wash moaned slightly as Caboose removed his gray helmet.

“Woah.” Simmons quickly stepped back. Then stared at Wash again, “…Huh.”

“What?” Wash rubbed his head.

“I just… never expected you’d be blond.”

“What?” Wash blinked. 

“Yeah, I always assumed you’d have brown hair,” Sarge put in.

“Definitely not a red head.” Doc added.

“You give an essence of brunette, I mean I’ve only met you for like, a day and I totally would never had pictured you as a blond.” Tucker agreed.

“It might be your sensible no nonsense behaviour,” Grif shrugged.

“And your superhero powers!” Caboose finished excitedly.

“What the fuck is with you guys…--wait… why is my armor blue?” 

“Oh. Well, Church went into the thing… and he’s all glowy now… and hasn’t had much time for us… so I figured you could be the new Church.”

“Huh?” Washington stared. Caboose held Church’s old helmet playing with it a bit. 

“You’d be perfect! You tell us to do stuff—like Church! And you have confusing backstory—like Church! And you’re blue—like Church. You’d be very good at it Mr. Agent Washington. I’d help you. We’d be best friends!” 

“This is—” Wash began. Caboose held out the blue helmet.  
The sound of a Pelican approaching interrupted him. Recovery teams, a lot of them, it only made sense though Mai—the Meta’s was probably set off and his own. The Chairman would want his evidence. Too bad he wouldn’t get it. Too bad Wash would go back to prison or be on the run for the rest of his life. Too bad he would be continually fucked over by Project Freelancer and all its ghosts. But Project Freelancer was dead, just as he wanted, and everyone else was dead. York, North, South, Carolina, Wyoming, Maine, Connie… even Tex. God even Epsilon. Everyone was dead now except him. Maine was the last. 

But somehow Wash always seemed to survive. 

He looked at all the dumb fucks surrounding him. Dumb fucks that got the shit kicked out of them daily because of problems that weren’t really theirs. Dumb fucks that stuck together despite their apparent animosity, despite their Red vs. Blue mentality. Dumb fucks who despite their complete and utter incompetence always managed survive—like him.

Dumb fucks that, for some reason were offering him a second chance.  
These guys, Reds and Blues it didn’t matter, they were a family somehow, even though most of their time used to be spent trying to kill each other and bickering… mostly bickering.

He took the helmet placing it on his head. 

“Hurray!” Caboose cheered. 

‘I don’t want them to die.’ Wash realized, ‘I don’t want these innocent idiots to suffer for the sins of the past. I don’t want them to end up like me. I want to…’

“Sarge you’re commanding officer, you should take point with this. They’ll ask how this happened. The answer is that we killed them, the Meta, Tex, and Washington.” 

“But you’re Washington,” Caboose pointed out, “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but let’s not tell them that.” 

“But wait, who the fuck is going to believe that we took down three Freelancers?” Grif asked.

“You did. The Meta ‘killed’ Tex and shot me, and then you guys took him down. After that you shot me, I went crazy I was going to try and kill all of you and escape.” 

“Not hard to believe I’ll give you that,” Simmons grumbled. 

The others all died, consumed by the Director’s experiments and by each other. These guys would never betray each other… they weren’t smart enough for that. 

And Washington wanted to protect them. 

He… _liked_ them.


	2. Puma

“What the fuck? Why are the Reds even attacking us?” Washington demanded. They had been back at outpost 17-B for two days. He had kept himself busy going through inventory fixing what could be fixed getting settled into his new… home. He had been getting the supplies sorted out when the sound of gun fire rang. He held his rifle climbing to higher ground. The Chairman, he must have—  
He watched as the reds drove (badly) around firing (badly) at them. 

“It’s what they do,” Tucker said as if it was a dumb question. He returned fire, but didn’t seem to hit anyone. 

“But you guys are always working together.” 

“Yeah, but now that we’re done with all that crazy stuff Sarge probably wanted to get back to killing us,” Tucker shrugged, “It’s the natural balance of things. Die Reds die and all that.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense! Why would you want to kill them?”

“Cause they’re Red? Duh.” 

“You guys are unbelievable.” Wash shook his head.

They really were in their own little bubble. They went through the Great War without an inkling of what was really going on. 

“Okay, I’ve seen you in action, I know you’re not a crap shot… unlike some people… why don’t you just—”

“Shoot them?” Tucker asked in surprise, “Man, don’t be so cold bloodied. They’re our buddies… um… kinda.” 

“Uhuh…” Washington watched in amusement (really there was no danger in this situation was there?) he glanced around, “Shit where’s Caboose.”

Tucker waved a calming hand, “Oh he’s probably fine.” 

“Well, in that case,” Wash took careful aim and fired four shots in quick succession. 

“Son of a bitch! They blew the tires out!”

“Aw man this sucks… does this mean we have to run? I hate running.”

“Retreat! Grif bring up the rear and protect us with your corpse!” 

“Fuck!”

“You said you didn’t like running.”

“Shut up Simmons!!” 

“Wow…” Wash blinked as he watched the Reds beat a hasty retreat. How the hell had he completed a mission with these guys as his back up? 

“Sweet!” Tucker cried. 

“What?”

“The Puma!”

“Puma? You mean a big cat?” Wash glanced around looking for the aforementioned cat.

“No man, the car! Think of the chicks we could pick up with that thing!!!” Tucker said gleefully.

Wash did picture it. First he pictured Connie (betrayal, dead), then he pictured South (Literally shot him in the back betrayal, dead), Carolina (Crazy, dead), and lastly Tex (Scary, betrayal, dead then not so dead, had a good reason for betrayal, tried to kill him, but for the right reasons if he thought about it deep down-- you know what? Fuck it. Dead.)

“What kind of chicks are we going to pick up in a car that looks like that?” Wash asked dubiously his previous experience with women flashing before his eyes.

“Man, you sound like Church. Hot chicks man. Hot chicks!” 

It wasn’t that Wash wanted to destroy Tucker’s fantasies of ever having sex (or meeting a sane girl), but seriously come on!

“Then why don’t the Reds have girlfriends?” He asked. Tucker looked at him. It’s amazing how easily a glare translates through a helmet. 

“Have you seen those guys?” 

“Fair point.” 

“It’s not all about the materials you have Wash, it’s how you use them.”

“My mistake.”

“For example Wash, a girl sees the Puma and is instantly attracted to it—”

“You know it’s called a M12 LRV—?”

“It’s called a Puma dude.”

“Or Warthog. Like, the little… things look like tusks there.”

“Anyway! She goes up to it and sees it’s one of those Red guys. She’s repulsed car or no car. I mean Grif is like, the most disgusting human being in existence, Simmons is a know-it-all and Sarge… well he’s old.” 

"I’ve never seen him with his helmet off I wouldn’t know.”

“Neither have I, but he’s totally old.”

“Right.”

“So there she goes, repulsed. No wonder there’s never any girls around here, the Reds must scare them off because they see the car and it’s like, ‘Oooh a Puma, maybe there’s some manly guys driving it that will have sex with me!’ and then she’s like ‘EEEEK Human cockroaches!!’ It would drive them straight out of here!” 

“…uhuh…” 

“So, now imagine if you will this girl she sees the Puma and she goes up and she’s like ‘Oooh Tucker, you’re so hot! Let’s have sex!’ Then it’s all like: Bow-chicka-bow-wow!” 

“Sure.”

“She’ll even have a friend for you! Just leave off the crazy and you’ll be gold man!” 

Wash shook his head holding up his hands, “Leave me out of this.” 

“What? Lame.”

“Don’t’ be a six year old. The Warth—Puma’s all yours,” Wash smiled beneath his helmet, “Good luck, getting it out of no-man’s land with four flat tires.”

“What? Fuck! Wash come on. Think of the chicks! The chicks Wash!!” 

Washington waved him off as he walked back towards the supply room to finish up.  
He paused, feeling his own smile stretching his lips. It had been awhile since he had something genuine to smile about. He chuckled and entered the storage room. 

In retrospect, he probably should have figured out where Caboose was during the gun fight. 

Yeah.


End file.
